Life After Life
by Bruteaous
Summary: What will the St. Trinian's girls do when one of their own goes missing? Belle/Kel with a little of Zoe/Bianca and Andrea/Taylor thrown in for good measure.
1. Chechnya I

_**Life After Life**_

_**Disclaimer: **_I don't own the St. Trinian's franchise or any of its characters. I am just borrowing them here for a little while.

"_You have a choice. Live or die. Every breath is a choice. Every minute is a choice. To be or not to be."_

—Chuck Palahniuk (b.1961)—

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><p><em><strong><strong><em>One: <em>**Chechnya**_

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><p>Kelly Jones' fingers twitched as she contemplated giving into the temptation to itch her nose for the third time in forty-five minutes. So far three hours on a stake out and their target still hadn't even shown up yet. The normally infallible girl let out a soundless breath and watched the small group of men on the dirt road as they debated in a mixture of heavy Russian and Chechen what was keeping their leader.<p>

Kelly leaned her back more solidly against the stone ledge she was on, overlooking the road and town/city of Argun in the growing evening, feeling the security the barrier offered. So far, their inside man was doing quite well. A British-Chechen by birth, Agent Mlakar was managing to impersonate the minor rebel they had assassinated convincingly enough that neither the gathered guards or the Russian they were dealing with knew he wasn't the real deal. According to their intel, the guy Agent Mlakar had replaced was a minor mover between the regional government and this group of mercenaries they had employed to move arms safely through the mountains. So far though, no one had seemed to know what he looked like enough to spot Mlakar as a fake. It had been their one stroke of luck on this trip.

Kelly looked over her shoulder and noticed headlights of a canvas covered lorry speeding towards them. The dark haired girl bent low to whisper into her earpiece. Her voice sounded loud in the stale air though she was sure no one else could hear her, but her two companions. A newer agent probably would have panicked, but Jones remained calm.

"You boys in position?"

Two responses crackled to life in her ear.

"Ready."

"Almost."

Both agents were supposed to be set up on the ridge opposite Jones as cover just in case things got dirty. One would be on the left side, overlooking the curve in the road. The other was further up, parallel to Kelly's own position only the miserable sod wasn't ready yet. What was taking him so long she didn't know, but it wasn't acceptable.

"Jensen, what the bloody hell is taking you so long? Christ! We've been here for three hours what have you been doing? Wanking off?" She seethed through the earphone.

"N—no, I was in position, I just fell asleep is all," came the sheepish reply. Kelly didn't know what had prompted her supervisor to assign two newbies to her team. One was too much; two were doing her head in.

"You've got to be fucking joking!" Jones sighed, more to herself than to anyone else.

The lorry was slowing down as it approached the men in the road, the guards moving to opposite sides to let it pass by them and pull up to Agent Mlakar and the Russian.

"Right, Jensen, we don't have time for this, just get ready to back me up."

"Got it."

Kelly clicked the safety off of her gun and narrowed her eyes as a man in a fur cap dropped down from the vehicle's driver side and greeted the Russian amicably. Mlakar fidgeted, looking awkward and out of place even from a distance. _What is he doing?_ It distracted Kelly, but not enough to keep her from her ultimate target. She braced the M24 sniper rifle against her shoulder and peered into the sight, the green of her night vision goggles tinting everything a Kool-Aid green. If only the man in the fur cap would turn around. They needed a positive ID on him before she could blast him into another life. It was supposed to be Asa Zupan, international black market arms dealer and direct link between the regional government and the weapon shipments they were importing under NATO's nose.

Kelly's attention was drawn from the man still with his back turned to her toward Mlakar who was looking around him nervously. That wasn't like him. _What is the bloody man trying to do blow his cover?_ Black arms dealers were like primal first years: nearly able to taste fear in the air before you even knew you were afraid. If even one of the guards on the road suspected Mlakar of being a fraud, he wouldn't even have to ask for permission to shoot him. Then the whole mission would be bollixed. They still might be able to take out Zupan if they were quick, but to capture the mercenaries and the Russian representative as evidence against the regional government they would need the situation to stay as quiet as possible.

Mlakar though didn't seem to be following the original plan. His eyes were straying everywhere. And when he backed up, the slight movement of one hand gave him away. Jones' eyes widened. _Bugger._ A second or so later, Mlakar's hand disappeared into his jacket pocket and retrieved his 9mm pistol. Without warning, he cocked it and shot the Russian in the back of the head. The guards shifted at the sound of the gunshot and fired at the man as he desperately ducked for cover. Kelly squinted through the scope as Zupan fell to the ground, a bullet in his back. A group of seven heavily armed men came out of the treeline and Mlakar reappeared with them, shooting the Russian guards dead.

"What the bloody hell?" flittered through her earpiece, "That wasn't part of the plan."

Kelly slid the silencer off of the end of the muzzle and detached the barrel as well as the scope, expertly packing the weapon away.

"We've been set up," Kelly hissed, "Abort the mission. Jensen, Shay get the hell out of here, immediately!"

For all of the newbies incompetencies, she didn't have to tell them twice how to run. The camouflaged men below were the scattered militia of the rebel forces that still opposed the regional government. If Mlakar was with them then it stood to reason, that not only was he a traitor, but a double agent as well. This mission was supposed to be covert. No one but Jones, the agents involved, and her supervisor knew they were here and why. If they were caught by the rebels now, they would be shot or imprisoned or worse in an effort to gain sympathy for their cause by insisting they had been ambushed by the intelligence force of a foreign country.

Kelly slung the military pack over her shoulder and pulled out her Beretta U22 as she made her way down the dirt and rock path that would lead her down the ledge and into the woods to relative obscurity. As she rounded the rock face, she could make out four men in the road. Three were unaccounted for and since she hadn't heard any gunshots yet, they likely hadn't found her companions. The balls of her feet absorbed the impact of her steps on the frozen ground, making no sound as she squirreled herself inch by inch away from the road. The quiet was deafening and it shouldn't have been. There should've at least been some talking or the sounds of footsteps moving rapidly around, but there was nothing.

Jones' stopped moving and squatted low to the ground. She was ten feet from the rock ridge where she had started. The road was clearly visible from her vantage point in the short grasses of the clearing between her and the woods and still four men were milling about. Mlakar was pacing around with a cigarette between his fingers. He'd probably sent the other three to search the area for Jones and her agents. The fact that Kelly couldn't see them didn't make her nervous, it pissed her off.

She raised her pistol and aimed for the slowly ambling figure of Mlakar moving across her green night vision. _Take this you wanker!_ The recoil felt like a natural movement as she pulled the trigger. The loud sound of a gunshot filled the night as the bullet struck Mlakar in the head. He immediately fell face first into the snow like bag of rubbish and the men around him scattered. Jones straightened up. It was time to blow this popsicle stand as quickly as possible. The first of many gunshots spurred her into action as her feet began to race toward the treeline a kilometre and a half away.

That wasn't her best idea, Kelly knew, but she rationalized it to herself as she ran: the bastard fucking deserved it! Idiotic pillock. She focused on the green outlines of trees as she moved closer and closer to them. Her blood rushed in her ears, breath coming out in sharp, short gasps of visible heat. Her legs ached for no particular reason; maybe three hours was a bit long to crouch in one place. Her arms sliced through the cold at her sides, giving her the momentum to equal her long strides. Her vision blurred slightly with every step as her goggles were jostled on her face with every heavy footfall…yet in feeling all of this, nothing of the experience quite stood out from the ordinary. And then everything stopped.

It began with a sudden pain in the left side of her chest that exploded into tiny pinpricks of light behind her eyes with the first breath she took after the bullet ripped through the bottom corner of her lung. To quit running wasn't really an option, too much momentum. Instead, her muscles stopped and her body fell forward into the snow. The intense feelings alternated between searing pain and cold numbness as Jones thrashed about, trying desperately to right herself. Every intake of air was an exertion. Every gulp of oxygen left her mouth wetter than it had come in and Kelly had just managed to roll herself onto her back when the coppery taste registered in her brain.

Blood. Her blood.

_Bollocks_, she sighed, the tail end turning into a soggy coughing fit. There was no aplomb, no drawing of a curtain. No memories flashed in front of Kelly Jones' eyes. Nothing and everything existed all at once as cold air filled her lungs, then poured out in one last sour gurgle that left a bad taste in her mouth only mother nature could contemplate.

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><p><strong> No worries readers, Kelly Jones is infamous for a reason and I guarantee you she will be rising from the dead at some point soon. Reviews will determine how quickly though~! :]<strong>


	2. Mornings

_**Two: Mornings**_

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><p>Mornings were worth sod all. What were they good for? Nothing! Even Polly would admit to that. Without some level of caffeine in her system, she didn't even want to know if the sun was up or a new day had failed to rise because some sort of natural disaster had wiped out half of the world's population. Humanity didn't amount to anything without coffee. Polly snuggled deeper into her pillow as the sounds of traffic, pigeons, and the shouts of perturbed pedestrians rose through the window of her fourth floor flat along the Rue de Belleville. Enough of the noise seeped into her consciousness to let the red headed geek know that life had started without her.<p>

Again.

Polly cracked her eyes open, noting the blue sky peaking out beyond her curtains. _Right, get up on three. One, two, three! _Not one muscle moved. The computer brain was willing, but the body was obviously in denial. Polly groaned deeply. She needed coffee or her entire day was in serious jeopardy. It might have been wishful thinking, but at that moment, the red haired girl's nostrils flared up. Was that Italian espresso with just a hint of cinnamon she smelled? Polly's eyes opened wider and she perked up.

Her phone chose that unfortunate time to chime a digital impression of Vivaldi from her nightstand and Polly lunged for it.

"Do you have a cup of coffee?" She asked as she answered the line, skipping all pretence of caring who they were or what they would think.

The stunned voice took a second to recuperate before answering honestly, "um, no."

Anything else the caller might've wanted to say was immediately cut off as Polly killed the connection and threw the phone across the room. Why did people do this to her? Everyone who meant anything to her had known her long enough to know that Polly did NOT talk to anybody before she had at least a sip of coffee or red bull or tea. A cup of tea was that so bloody difficult to come by? A personal barista, that's what she needed to invest in next. Screw stocks; she was going into hostage taking. Couldn't go wrong with a profession like that, could you? The geek made a mental note to give Andrea a call before the day was out. The quiet former emo had taken enough prisoners in her time and not been nailed for it that Polly figured she of all people would be a good judge of how lucrative a business it could be. Baristas, professional tea brewers, the scientists behind those little 5-hour burst of energy shots...she could nab them all and leave the world suffer a wonderful morningless future. Anything was better than a caffeineless existence.

Polly took a couple of deep breaths and kicked the sheets off of her legs. Vivaldi struck up again from somewhere on the carpet, but she paid no attention to it as she rose and stomped into the bathroom. It took thirty minutes, but she was successfully showered, dressed, and ready at least to greet her kitchen if not the day.

Bare feet dragged into the kitchen as the geek reached for the refrigerator handle and retrieved a red bull, popping it open with a satisfying hiss. The first sip calmed her riled nerves and was on the way to raising her mood when Polly moved over to the window to look out over the city. Throngs of people were moving in every direction: across sidewalks, beneath pedestrian lights, and disappearing down into metro stations. The city smelled like fuel congestion and piss and occasionally food from the cafes on the corners. Everything and everyone were in motion. Bikes and mopeds wove in between tourists and cars. There was a sense of centrifugal force that was native to the arrondissement, but it lacked urgency. People didn't run for buses or trains. They walked, walked quickly, but walked just the same. It surprised Polly the different flavours one city could have from another.

The geek's native London was a completely different animal from the French capital. More modern by far, London was a place where people ran for things. There was a definite sense of contemporary urgency, of urban creep and competition and Polly preferred her cities that way as a result. Paris was only the redhead's temporary home anyway. Soon enough, she would be boarding the Eurostar and returning to London. Working for MI6 was fun and all, but Polly looked forward to the ending of every assignment with more and more excitement as the months went by. Turns out being just shy of twenty and having a high profile career paid the bills, but just about killed any other plans you might have had for yourself. Polly knew she should be grateful. Jet setting all over Europe, Asia, and the Americas, all expenses paid to plan missions of the utmost importance to national security was a dream job and to do it with no strings attached at twenty was nearly unheard of. However, Polly found she missed simpler days when she could hack into a bank or even the UN's network just because she wanted to, not because she needed to get some information on a potential security threat and not because the bloody government needed it done. Polly missed being her own boss for her own sake.

Vivaldi started up again from somewhere in the room, the red haired geek knocking back half of her red bull before she even felt like answering it.

"_You're really not a morning person, are you, Owens? I'll have to remember that."_

"You'd do well to," Polly warned before downing the last of the beverage. "What do you want, Bennett?"

The older techie was a home base coordinator Polly sometimes used to give her another set of eyes in the field. Very seldom though did the two talk anything but work.

"_Jones is MIA," _he blurted out, not beating around the bush. It was one of the reason's Polly chose to work with him instead of some of the other freelancers the agency was always sending her. He could say a fact and say it straight, but right now Polly wished he hadn't had to say it at all. There was a pause where no one said anything before Bennett's tentative voice started up again, _"Miss Owens?" _

Polly's mind was racing at a hundred miles a second, leaping from question to question as they popped into her head. How? When? Kelly? No way!

"Where and when was her last recorded destination?" Polly asked calmly, switching the phone from one shoulder to the other as she reached for her laptop.

"_A city called Argun in Chechnya, 5 PM last night." _

"Was she alone?"

"_No, she headed a team comprised of at least two more agents. Both of whom have already checked in with the field office in Moscow." _

Polly flipped open her computer and ran the program that connected agents to the GPS system, honing in on a device they carried with them so they or their bodies could be found if an operation went wrong. She typed in Kelly's reference number and waited. The search brought up a little red dot that flashed burgundy right next to the river Argun.

"The GPS locator says she's still in Chechnya. Are you lot sure you know what you're talking about?" Polly inquired. It was very possible that careless complacence or laziness was why the agency hadn't been able to locate Kelly. If you couldn't find a way to come to them, they wouldn't look for you. Using the GPS system was a last resort.

There was a short pause.

"_Hold a moment please." _

There was an audible click and elevator music came over the line. Polly stared at the iphone in her hands and contemplated throwing it again. Her love of technology had limits that were usually tested by stupid people. The music cut out again shortly though and Bennett cleared his throat.

"_Excuse me Miss Owens, I apologize for the interruption. It seems I read the report wrong. My apologies." _He cleared his throat again, this time finding it harder to get his voice again, _"Jones isn't MIA she's KIA, shot in the field. I know you were both rather close. You have my deepest condolences. Miss Owens?" _

Polly just stared down at her glowing computer screen, the blinking dot still pulsating on the page before her eyes.

"Are—are you sure?" She asked. A raw feeling was rolling through her stomach that was quickly being overrun by thoughts of delivering the news to Miss Fritton and the girls of St. Trinians' and hardest of all: to Annabelle.

"_Yes, yes, miss. I am looking at the report now."_

"And it says Kelly Opossum Jones born 12 August 1988 in Gravesend, Kent?" Polly pressed roughly.

"_I—I think so,"_ The flustered man stammered amidst the shifting of papers.

"Well, check again!" Polly shouted urgently, the volume of her voice rising as the empty feeling in her stomach rose up into her chest.

There was a shuffling of papers on the other end of the line and then when that ceased, nervous fingers could be heard typing furiously into a computer.

"_Kelly Opossum Jones. DOB: 12 August 1988. Hair Colour: Black, Weight: 56.2 kilograms, Eye Colour: Dark Brown, Distinguishing Features: Serpent tattoo on—" _

"Her left bicep," Polly finished weakly as a tear slid down one cheek. "Thank you for telling me."

"_No problem, miss. If you need anything, make sure you ask. The agency is deeply sorry for your loss." _

The end of the line clicked off onto a dial tone, leaving Polly to disconnect the line. For perhaps the first time in her whole life, Polly truly, seriously felt lost and alone.

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><p><strong><em>Review Please~! I always write better stories with them than without them~! <em>**


	3. Dead Can Dance

_**Three: Dead Can Dance**_

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><p>"Twat."<p>

"Prat."

"Slag!"

"Tit!"

"Bleeding Goth!"

"Big-arsed Chav!"

"Oi! That's taking it too far, bride of Chuckie!"

The moment the insults stopped, unstoppable force met immovable object and the laws of science were turned arse over tit. The girls of St. Trinians were unfazed by the collision of such forces as they happened on an hourly basis in the forms of Zoe and Bianca. The two rivals were in particularly fine form today and were devoting every iota of energy they had to pummelling one another senseless.

Annabelle tapped her fingers on one of the wooden support posts in the dorm, unusually anxious. These fights never worried her much. There was always a chance that Zoe or Bianca might take their loathing a little too far, but she could usually separate them with a word before it even got close to that point so why was she so wound up today? It was getting close to dinnertime. The sun had already fallen halfway below the horizon and could barely be seen over the wall, leaving only a faint orange glow to warm the dorm's windows.

Annabelle made a conscious effort to quell her fidgeting and crossed her arms over her chest to give them something to do.

"How many Bianca/Zoe fights is that today?" Chelsea asked as she and the other totties wandered over to where the head girl was standing. The three blondes were thoroughly bored with their magazines and on the hunt for better entertainment.

"Four," Belle answered, "So far."

The three blondes flinched as Bianca rolled the emo onto her back and fit a hand around her throat, trying to choke her into submission. Zoe responded in typical fashion by kneeing the girl on top of her in the groin and using the surprise to reverse their positions on the chav. The first years already had the odds up on the board. Very seldom did Belle participate in betting on these particular two. She found that their fights were usually too close to call though Kelly insisted they had tells that gave away the outcome of every round, sometimes before the actual violence even started. Belle could almost hear her girlfriend's amused voice in her head as if she were standing right beside her.

_See how Bianca drops her guard on the left every time she moves in for a punch? Zoe'll have a field day with that, just you watch. _

Belle mentally nodded her agreement when almost on cue, Bianca did just that, lashing out at Zoe with a mean right hook that missed because the other girl noticed the opening Bianca had left and landed a kick to her unprotected side. Annabelle's breathing increased. She felt a warmth behind her, almost as if Kelly was pressed up against her as she often did when they were together, arms wrapped comfortably around the younger girl's waist as she whispered things that would make a hooker blush in Belle's ear. The head girl smiled, feeling the least alone she had felt in the two weeks since she'd last seen her girlfriend. Kelly's job made it hard to be together as much as they wanted to be (which was basically every waking moment), but every day the former head girl had off, every holiday she came back to St. Trinian's and Belle. That was enough. It would have to be for now until Kelly either got promoted or chose a different line of work. They'd manage so long as they had each other; Belle had no doubts about that.

All of the sudden the air around the young brunette chilled and the comforting warmness she had felt disappeared. Belle shivered, feeling as though she'd lost something though she had no idea what it was. The sound of wood cracking brought Annabelle back to the here and now. Zoe's back slammed into a bed post hard, Bianca pinning her against it with all of her weight.

"Do you give in corpse kisser?" the rude girl asked, panting for breath.

"You wish," Zoe ground out.

Both of them had small cuts and scratches on their faces and hands, either fresh or reopened from a previous scrap and both looked about ready to keel over despite the fact that they were both still struggling against one another. Bianca and Zoe would end up killing each other one day. That was what was going to happen. Only those two could fight one another, only they could taunt each other. Even Andrea and Taylor had known that. After figuring that out during their first year, they had both stayed out of the various arguments and scraps that cropped up between the two natural born enemies and had let them fight them out until they were ready to pass out. It was a strategy that had always worked for the former head chav and head emo and Belle was at this moment tempted to try it out, but she was head girl. Everyone's safety was her responsibility. If by chance Bianca did gut Zoe then not only would Belle be responsible for the poor girl's death, she would also fold under the guilt.

"Amazing how hot and bothered someone can get you when they're the person you fancy, hm?" Belle spoke up above the jostling pair.

There was a pause as the head emo and rude girl stopped wrestling and looked at eachother. Then Bianca immediately let go of Zoe and the dark haired girl's pale cheeks had the decency to redden. Both of them looked stricken. Even Bianca's usually loud, overly confident voice shook when she spoke.

"What are you on about, Belle?"Bianca asked, trying to pretend she wasn't bothered as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Yeah, stop talking shite,"Zoe hissed in agreement while Beth moved forward to help her leader back to her feet.

Annabelle just shrugged, not bothering to hide her smirk as the girls returned to their respective tribes. All it took was a suggestion that Zoe and Bianca's fights were more complicated than simply being hate driven and both girls immediately went into denial. It was a useful trick, Belle found. Anger never took priority over self-preservation. The head girl grinned. Another day, another crisis averted. It was well past six and dinner was sure to be laid out for the girls in the dining hall. Belle would wander down there soon, but first things first. She pulled her phone from her pocket and speed dialled a familiar number.

Fritton frowned when the call went directly to voicemail without ringing. She sighed and closed the line without leaving a message. Kelly usually didn't keep her phone on while she was in the field. If she was on assignment somewhere then she would call when she could. Annabelle knew that, she was just a little bit anxious to hear from her though, not having heard from her girlfriend in two days. Not a long time mind, but it was damn near an eternity for the two of them.

Belle walked down the stairs, not expecting the familiar red haired figure she spotted standing in the foyer being squeezed into a grudging hug by Beverly. Annabelle stopped on the last landing as the blonde secretary released the former geek and buzzed for Miss Fritton.

"Polly? It's wonderful to see you! Why didn't you call to say you were coming for a visit?"

Polly cleared her throat. She had spent the whole day in transit. First through customs, then on the Eurostar, then customs again, and then a train from Paddington all the way to the closest village. The geek watched as Annabelle descended the last few steps and enveloped her in a hug, the sickening feeling in her stomach making her feel nauseous. Her breath hitched as she tried to breath, inhaling Annabelle's perfume and trying not to think about what she had to do.

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><p><strong><em>Please review. I am trying to decide where to go from here with the storyline. I might have a few pleasant surprises in store for a change, but it all depends on what you guys say in your reviews. ~<em>**


	4. Telling the Troops

_**Four: Telling the Troops**_

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><p>Beverly was the first one to know something was wrong when Polly walked through the front doors.<p>

Making an entrance that was a surprise (meaning Polly had come through the school's outer defences completely unnoticed by the usual lookouts AND made it to the front doors without interruption), but had made no effort at being stealthy or secretive was saying something all by itself. For someone like Polly who knew all of the ins and outs of the school, not to bother messing with the security system or pranking her own tribe was a sign right away that something was seriously wrong. By the time Annabelle had arrived in the foyer, the red haired spy looked like she might pass out. The coup de grace came when Miss Fritton met them by the stairs instead of waiting for Polly to come to her office and the former geek nearly tossed her cookies on Annabelle's shoulder. It was only when the twins were summoned with a group of first years to forcefully carry the girl to Matron that Polly blurted out the jaw-dropping news.

Kelly Jones—notorious former head girl and a force in the annals of anarchy that had no equal—was dead.

Everyone paused and time seemed to stop for minutes on end before the unavoidable chain reaction started. Miss Fritton's mouth hung open, no words coming out. Annabelle immediately went into a hysterical flurry of denials which the twins were quick to echo and Beverly fainted clear off her chair. The first years didn't know whether to back the twins up or stay quiet and they settled for riding the wave of anxiety through the room, shedding tears for the woman they only knew by reputation as their head girl shrunk into a sobbing, kneeling mess. Like blood in water, the commotion attracted the attention of girls returning from the dining hall. Chelsea, brave in her ignorance, was the first to approach Annabelle. She sat down beside her on the floor and folded the distraught girl into her arms.

"Belle? What's wrong? Belle?"

Annabelle couldn't get her breath back long enough to form words so she didn't try, just buried her face in her arms. She didn't want to move. She didn't want to think or even to breathe. It wasn't worth it without Kelly. Polly finally threw up and Camilla was debating how to tell the rest of her girls the news or if she would even be able to tell them at all.

In thirty minutes the situation had calmed down enough to almost be back to normal…almost.

It was common knowledge that the emos had the widest repertoire of drugs both legal and otherwise in the UK so as soon as she could, the headmistress had sent for Zoe. The swarthy girl picked out the strongest sedatives known to man and promptly delivered two of them to Annabelle. The head girl was so distraught that she couldn't even walk straight without shaking so it had been up to Bianca and Chelsea to all but carry her up the stairs to her room where she was still resting. With her niece taken care of, Miss Fritton had called for Matron to take Polly to the infirmary and assembled the other girls in the foyer. With the stiff upper lip of a military commander, she delivered the devastating news to her troops.

One of their own would not be coming home.

In her years at the school, the headmistress and her girls had braved train robberies, blue murders, chauvinistic secret societies, and the '80s without once surrendering the life of a St. Trinian to their enemies. Sure, some had gone missing for a few days, but they were eventually found…mostly in one piece. However, on this accursed day, that decades' long tradition had failed them and they were cheesed off at the world for it. For the first time, girls who refused to know propriety and hardly knew fear were swarmed in feelings of bereavement so strong that they had no idea how to weather through the dark clouds hanging over them.

Chelsea, Saffy, and Bella cried until their waterproof mascara started to run. The geeks found they weren't in the mood for insider trading and let the international stock market go unterrorized for the first time in their tribe's history. The members of the Banned hung up their instruments and went to bed early. The flammables unplugged their DJ station and refused to dance. The ecos didn't harp on any other tribe about their unecofriendly management of power and the rude girls weren't arguing amongst themselves or even dancing to their ipods. Even the emos seemed to have left their incantations alone for the time being. The first years were quietly sobbing from their corner of the building and the twins were nowhere to be found. Most disturbing of all, no explosions ruptured the sombre atmosphere of the campus, no screams resonated from either floor, and no one was drinking not even Matron.

By the time Annabelle came out of her comatose sleep there was nothing to distinguish St. Trinan's fearsome population from any other British girls' school. Their uniqueness had been put on the backburner and even more surprising; Annabelle found that she didn't care whether things ever went back to normal again.

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><p>Wakefulness came through the eyes first. After that it was left to the other senses to catch up.<p>

The first thing she saw when the anaesthetic wore off was the male nurse retapping the IV needle on the back of her hand. Then there was the sterile smell of stainless steel and packaged plastic that hinted at either a science lab or hospital or both. Next came feeling. The textured blanket over her was thin and provided a surprising amount of warmth to the recovering body below.

"Welcome back to the fold, Miss Jones." The heavily accented male voice wasn't one Kelly recognized, "We've been waiting on you for quite some time now."

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><p><strong>Short and to the point, but it was what the muses were telling me to do. Review please~!<strong>


	5. Emo on the Roof

_**Five: Emo on the Roof**_

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><p>Zoe didn't cry. She didn't sob. She didn't break down or throw things or get depressed. Instead, she drank tequila.<p>

The amber liquid nullified her grief and allowed her to keep her wits about her even when the other girls in her tribe were snivelling through their dreams or secretly overdosing on mescaline when they thought their leader wasn't paying attention. Emotionally unstable meant more than most people gave it credit for and the emos were one of the tribes struggling the most with the atmosphere of bereavement that had overtaken St. Trinian's in the past day and a half.

All of the other tribes had found a way to collectively mourn their fallen friend.

The posh totties—with the help of the indispensable JJ French—were in the process of composing a memoir entitled _Remembering Kelly: Memories of a St. Trinian Head Girl_ that was already in the promotional stages without a word having been written yet. In the lingering absence of the twins, the first and second years had erected a shrine in their corner to the girl who had cracked the safe under the noses of AD1 and stolen Vermeer and flogged it for a small fortune without getting caught. The geeks, with Polly's help, had started a youtube video tribute comprised of various footage taken of the girl over the years by the network of cameras posted around the school. The flammables were working with the Banned to compose a song and dance combo dedicated to the Jones' life. The ecos were working on a statue of Kelly made entirely out of recyclable materials and the chavs had unpredictably appointed themselves as Annabelle's personal body guards/envoys to the outside world.

Bianca had even made it her life's mission, once she began to realize that the head girl was going to waste away if they weren't careful, to try to bust down Annabelle's door every morning in an effort to get her to re-join the world of the living without success. It was the perfect job for the head rude girl. Nothing could deter a chav when they had their mind set on something.

But the emos were different.

They didn't mourn collectively. They dealt individually, artistically, destructively, and internally in ways that bled from the inside out into the world. Janie had changed her make-up first thing, lining her eyes in a heavy mixture of blue and grey. Then she had emblazoned her prized hockey stick with the words 'KELLY LIVES' in all caps. Beth had dyed her unruly blonde mane completely black, adopted a new choker with a silver padlock on it, and devoted every waking hour to rehearsing with the Banned. Some of the younger emos had reacted more severely. Madeline—a dark spirited fifth year who had always worn her tie close to her chin like a noose—had started holding personal séances at all hours of the day without once pausing for food or water. Twice now she had had to be dragged down to the dining hall by the other members of her tribe so she wouldn't pass out in the middle of her incantations and Mosey—a red-haired fourth former who had pierced her own nose with a sharpened crocheting needle last year—had recently been carried to the infirmary too high on mescaline not to know that jumping off of the second floor banister to the first floor was a bad idea or that the blue butterflies she was trying to catch weren't real.

Zoe's way of coping was much more benign.

She migrated to the roof every evening with a bottle of tequila and contemplated the stars beneath the numbing ache being burned out of her chest on a wave of alcoholic relief. It wasn't like the head emo had really known Kelly Jones all that well. Truth be told, they were never proper friends, but in an odd way, Zoe knew she owed the girl for something. Kelly Jones hadn't even been head girl when Zoe had entered the school, but she had made the most vivid impression on the quiet emo out of all of her classmates.

A full two years younger than Kelly, Zoe had come into the school in the middle of fall term. Her parents had removed her from another primary school after she had tried to stab out the eye of a bully and Camilla Fritton had been kind enough to accept her mid-term (after putting a rush on the school fees, of course). On that first day, Zoe had never felt so afraid as she had staring up at the Gothic stone façade that would eventually become her home, heart and soul. Her father had led her in through the doors and almost lost his head after breaking a tripwire connecting a pulley system to a sharpened hatchet. Zoe grinned uncharacteristically at the memory that inspired. Beverly was still a student at the school then and Miss Fritton had no personal secretary so booby traps had been everywhere in the foyer in those days.

The first person who had greeted Zoe upon arrival had been Mercedes Moretti, the current head girl at the time. Short and not nearly so imposing as Kelly Jones had been, Mercedes had welcomed the girl in front of her father with a warm smile and a strong head lock the moment he was out of sight. A bully in the worst possible way, Mercedes had ruled the school by fear, not a mixture of fear and respect as her predecessors and successors did. The only person who hadn't been afraid of getting on the temperamental chav's bad side had been Kelly Jones. Only a third year, she was barely twelve when she had stood up for Zoe the first time, taking on the head girl's precious wardrobe in all of its glory with a bucket of grey paint and a bag of powdered sugar.

Zoe hadn't asked Kelly to do it and hadn't known that Jones had done it for her until Andrea had told her years later that Kelly had enlisted her help in getting the head girl back for how badly she treated the younger students and Zoe in particular. She and Kelly had never spoken of it, but Zoe would never forget how the older girl had taken on the most powerful student in the school on all of their behalf's. It was just one of the many early indicators that Kelly had been different and would continue to be different than the rest of them. She had stood out, not just in her diabolical talent for mayhem, but also at the level she had cared for her classmates; all of them.

No other head girl before or since had taken on the protection of her girls with such vim and affection for each and every one of them as individuals. That was one of the reasons she was being so dearly missed right now. Not everyone might have been Kelly Jones' friend, but everyone had been one of her girls almost from the start.

"Oi! What're you doing up here?"

Zoe turned her head slightly, but wasn't going to grace the familiar voice with a response. Instead, she took another swig from the bottle and waited as the sound of footsteps moved closer.

Bianca sat down next to Zoe on the ledge and rubbed her hands over her tracksuit sleeves.

"It's bleedin' cold up here! What're you doing? You're going to freeze that frown off your face, you div."

Zoe was unfazed by the insult. There wasn't any venom behind the rude girl's voice tonight anyway. She handed the bottle to Bianca, but didn't bother to look at her.

"At least I can speak proper," Zoe countered quietly.

Bianca took a swig from the bottle and grimaced at the strong taste, feeling warmer almost immediately.

"At least I can hear proper," Bianca returned, handing the bottle back, "Not like you, what come up here and have the wind do your ears in so we have to spend the rest of the night shouting at you so you can hear what we's sayin'."

Zoe looked down at the nearly empty bottle in her hands and screwed the lid back on instead of taking another drink. She'd probably had enough for tonight. She felt sufficiently mellow enough that even Bianca's presence didn't have her so nearly on edge as it usually did. Still, for the past two nights, the chav had been unnecessarily kind towards her, not picking fights with her as much as usual and making sure she came in off of the roof after dark; and Zoe wasn't sure she felt comfortable with this new side of the girl.

"What do you care?" She hissed, finally looking at the rude girl who was running her hands through her ponytail absently.

Bianca immediately pushed her hair behind her shoulder and crossed her arms over her chest defensively, "I don't, do I? It's just your girls what get unsettled when you wander off. Not being able to find the twins is driving all of us barmy."

Zoe considered that. Bianca was right. The twins' disappearance had thrown the whole school off kilter. Search parties on a four shift rotation night and day hadn't been able to turn them up and even Miss Fritton was beginning to lose her calm with the situation.

"I hardly think my girls would send you of all people up here to find me," Zoe contradicted, raising a dark eyebrow in Bianca's direction.

"Didn't have to, did they? I already knew where to look."

With that Bianca stood up and brushed off the back of her track pants. Then a second later, Zoe felt a tug on her elbow. When she didn't acknowledge it, the tug came again harder, and then again, and again until Zoe's arm was nearly behind the rest of her body. Taking the not so subtle hint her rival was trying to give her, Zoe sighed and followed Bianca back inside.

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><p><em><strong>I had "If I Were a Rich Man" dancing in my head the whole time I was writing this. Hence the title! XD I would like to mention that—though this story is KelBelle oriented—it will share its focus with the other St. Trinian's girls. I just couldn't conceive of a plot that didn't try to tell all of their stories at once. Review, please with suggestions and feedback!~ **_


	6. From London With Love

**I would like to thank everyone who has read and reviewed thus far. It means the world to me to hear feedback on the things that I write and also to know that the plot is working out alright. Please continue to leave comments so I know to continue or not! XD**

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><p><em><strong>Six: From London With Love<strong>_

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><p>Taylor leaned against the kitchen counter, reading and rereading the SMS on her phone.<p>

_Everything's gone fucking mental here, Tay. Jones is dead and everyone's gone ball-bustin' mad._ Bianca had never had a flare for the dramatic. The antagonistic, definitely, but not the dramatic, which meant that the situation at Taylor's old school probably was just as insane as her protégé was painting it out to be. Her phone beeped and a new SMS took the position of the old one on the screen.

_Belle's not eatin'. Girl hasn't come out of her bloody room and no one's seen the twins for 2 days. _

Taylor sighed and set the phone down on the counter edge, thrumming her fingers agitatedly over the lino surface as she waited for the timer on the toaster to go off.

The news of Kelly's death had hit Taylor like a burst of pepper spray—unpleasant and entirely unexpected. No one, especially not the girls who had known her, would ever be able to imagine that someone like Kelly Jones could ever die. Or that anything short of a nuclear holocaust could have killed her. The former head girl was too resilient. She made nails look like mouldable clay. That's one of the reasons Taylor was actually awake. Very seldom was she up before the hour of eleven, but the message had come in at eight. As soon as Taylor had won the argument with herself whether to answer the SMS or throw her phone against the wall, she hadn't been able to settle back into sleep. So she was doing the next best thing to get her mind off of the situation.

She was making Andrea breakfast in bed and trying like hell not to worry about how to tell her girlfriend that their former classmate and lifelong friend was dead. Maybe soldiers, a soft boiled egg, and a stiff cup of white coffee would soften the blow. Taylor immediately discounted the notion though almost as soon as it popped into her head. There would be nothing that could soften this news. It would be near impossible to take and when Andrea finally broke down, she would be there too, ready, if grudgingly, to give into her own crying fit.

The toast surfaced and Taylor grabbed for it, almost dropping a piece on the floor before getting them to the plate and tray with the full eggcup already on it. With the soldiers cut and the coffee prepared, the former chav squared her shoulders and carried the tray carefully through the sitting room and down the hall to their bedroom. Their Brixton flat overlooked Electric Avenue and had the window been open; the sounds of moving people and goods and the smells of meat, fish, and more varieties of fruit than one could eat in a day would have wafted up into their shared space. Most nights, Andrea left the window open a crack. They were far enough from the street that anyone who wanted to get into the flat without their permission would need to know how to climb a rope and mount a grappling hook and that was before they got into the place and faced the mantraps at the other end.

It was the sounds of traffic, horns honking, and Taylor in her arms that lured the former emo to sleep. Taylor would never understand it. Growing up in a flat overlooking Coldharbour Lane for the first few years of her life, she could understand how living in an urban space could feel completely natural, but she'd be damned if she was going to pretend to enjoy the reverberations of skidding tires, halting buses, obnoxious pillocks shouting, and the dampening scent of pollution that filled each and every day for twenty-four hours on. She loved London for what it was—her home city, but she wasn't going to love all of the bad things about it as well. However, it was fitting as Taylor's polar opposite that Andrea enjoyed everything about Brixton Taylor couldn't stand like the constant crowds in the arcade that could get nearly impossible to weave through sometimes and the repulsive late afternoon smell of fish that radiated out of the meat stalls. But Andrea didn't begrudge a single sensation; a single experience of her time in the city.

Leave it to an emo to be a secret optimist

Taylor shook her head at the thought, carefully rounding the corner into their bedroom where Andrea was still asleep on her stomach. She edged a book out of the way and set the tray on the nightstand before sitting down on the bed and cozying up to Andrea's side. Taylor had showered and dressed in a long sleeve shirt and a pair of dark blue jeans. It was a perfect contrast to the pale naked skin that was only partially concealed by the sheets covering Andrea's body. Taylor put a hand on her girlfriend's lower back and started drawing light circles with a finger. When Andrea didn't stir, Taylor decided to switch tactics.

"Oi, sleeping beauty," She called.

The rising and falling of breath beneath Taylor's hand grew a bit faster, but not enough to clue in wakefulness. Right, new plan. The former chav leaned in close to her lover's ear and yelled at the top of her lungs, "FIRE!"

The girl beneath her startled and tried to struggle out from underneath whatever was pinning her body. When she turned around wide-eyed and saw a mischievously grinning Taylor, she groaned and collapsed against the mattress. Taylor leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Andrea's cheek that belittled her actions.

"Morning, luv. I made ya breakfast," Taylor cooed gently.

"Burn it, did you?" Andrea deadpanned through a yawn.

Taylor sat up, offended, "What do ya mean did I burn it? Do ya smell burning? You've got some cheek, Morticia, after what I've done fer ya!"

Andrea grinned and took advantage of the extra space to roll onto her back, encircling Taylor's waist in her arms and pulling her girlfriend back against her. The chav's anger dissipated at Andrea's touch and she laid down and snuggled up to naked skin.

"What time is it?" Andrea mumbled.

"Doesn't matter, it's Sunday. Ya don't work today."

"So why'd you wake me?" the emo grumbled.

Taylor sobered and sat up again. This was it. Now was the time to tell Andrea about Kelly, but how?

Andrea's eyes opened lazily, the whoosh of cold air washing over her bare chest telling her that her girlfriend had pulled away from her. Though she enjoyed arguing with Taylor almost as much as she did shagging her, the emo decided not to antagonize her girlfriend about her cooking skills. However, Andrea's fears about the chav's culinary prowess weren't entirely imagined. The last time Taylor had decided to cook a surprise meal of curry chicken and roti it had almost had disastrous consequences. Andrea had been finishing up an afternoon shift at the pub where she bartended when the klaxons had started down Brixton Road. It might not have distracted the brunette so much if the emergency sirens had sped past, but instead they had stopped across from her building.

Imagine her surprise when she ran down the street and found Taylor leaning out of one of their windows and trying to curse the fire brigade out of climbing a ladder to reach her. The chav leader had never been much of a homemaker and it was quite a learning curve to find out that curry mixture and chopped yellow onions could be so flammable. Andrea grinned at the memory and reluctantly propped herself up against the headboard, finally taking in the strong smell of boiled egg and brewed coffee over toasted bread. This was going to be a good morning, Andrea could already feel it in her bones. Her expression dimmed somewhat though when she noticed Taylor purse her lips together like she usually did when she was nervous and didn't know how to say something difficult.

"What is it?" Andrea asked, "has something happened, Tay?"

Taylor's eyes fell to the red comforter on the bed, unable to meet her girlfriend's gaze directly. Her dark eyes began to water in an uncharacteristic fashion and she gripped Andrea's waist tighter; all were tells that something terrible had happened.

"Tay?" Andrea tried again, scooting closer and cupping Taylor's face between her hands, "Tay, what is it?"

Taylor sniffed and looked up into Andrea's worried face. She wasn't incredibly brave. Not even when they were scaling the wire eleven metres above the School Challenge audience or when dancing round hypersensitive invisible lasers, would Taylor have called herself that. But like every St. Trinian she had balls of steel and the fact that Andrea was worried about her, about what someone might have done to hurt her and might beat their arses for it made her feel like she could conquer or blow up the world (whichever came first).

Beneath the emo's concerned expression, Taylor finally bit the bullet.

"Kelly's gone, Rea."

Andrea's concern melted into a puzzled expression as the chav continued.

"I got an SMS from Bianca this morning. Polly popped up at the school, says Kelly's dead and Belle's not eatin' and the twins are missing. It's serious, Rea."

The colour had drained out of Andrea's already pale face, "We should go home, Tay. Sort everything out."

After the breakfast tray was finished, Andrea packed a suitcase and Taylor called ahead at Brixton Station for tickets on the next train out that afternoon. They were going back to school.

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><p><em><strong>This chapter overlaps with the timeline of <strong>_**Emo on the Roof**_**—so it takes place on the same day just on rewind just to clear up any confusion there. Also, some James Bond film titles might be creeping up in here. Can't resist making a jibe at the spy franchise—especially the novel **_**From Russia With Love. **_**Bond might not be able to handle the soft life, but these St. Trinian's sweethearts have it down to a science. Review please!~**_


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